Daisy in the Field

"Did you ever see anything superior to it, Mr.Randolph? Rose leaves are not any better than that. Pshaw,Daisy! - you must get accustomed to hear people say it."

  "Nobody shall say it to me, mamma, but you."

  "No," said my father. "That is my view of it, too."

  "Nonsense!" said mamma - "there are a thousand ways of doingthe same thing, and you cannot stop them all. Your hair is asfine as possible, too, Daisy, although it has not had me totake care of it."

  "But I did just as you told me with it, mamma," I said.

  She kissed me again. "Did nobody ever tell you you werebeautiful?" she asked archly. "Yes, I know that you did justas I told you. You always did, and always will. But did younot know that you were beautiful?"

  "Speak, Daisy," said papa. Said as it was with a smile, itbrought childish memories vividly back.

  "Mamma," I said, "I have heard something of it - and I supposeit may be true."

  They laughed, and mamma remarked that I was human yet. "Thereis a difference between the child and the woman, you willfind, Mr. Randolph."

  Papa answered, that it was no very remarkable token ofhumanity, to have eyes and ears.

  "Daisy's eyes were always remarkable," said my mother.

  "But, mamma," said I, "in other things there is no differencebetween the child and the woman. My outside may have altered -my mind is not changed at all; only grown."

  "That will do," said mamma.

  I was obliged to leave it to time, and hoped to make myself sopleasant that what I could not change in me might be at leasttolerated, if it were not approved. It seemed an easy task! Iwas such a manifest subject of joy, to father and mother, andeven Ransom too. A newly discovered land, full of gold, is notmore delightfully explored by its finders, than I was watched,scrutinised, commented on, by my family.

  That first day, of course, they could not let me out of theirsight. It was nothing but talk, all day long. In the eveninghowever our last evening's guests reappeared. The conversationthis time did not get upon American politics, so everybodyshowed to better advantage; I suppose, myself included. We hadmusic; and the gentlemen were greatly delighted with my voiceand my singing. Mamma and papa took it very coolly until wewere left alone again; then my mother came up and kissed me.

  "You have done your duty, Daisy, in improving your voice," shesaid. "You are a Daisy I am perfectly satisfied with. If youcan sing as well in public as you have done to-night inprivate, papa will be proud of you."

  "In public, mamma?" I said.

  "Yes. That does not frighten you. Nothing does frighten you."

  "No, mamma, but - what do you mean by 'in public'?"

  "Not on the stage," said mamma.

  "But mamma, - papa," - I said, anxiously, "this is what I wantyou to understand. I will do anything in the world you wish meto do; only, I am - I must be, - you know, - a servant ofChrist."

  "I said nothing against that," my mother replied. But myfather, clasping me in his arms, whispered, -

  "We will be servants together, Daisy."

  That word sent me to bed with a whole heartful ofthankfulness. I could bear anything now, if his words meantwhat I hoped they did. And I should have security, too,against any too great trial of my affection and duty to himand to mamma.

  An expedition had been arranged for the next day; in which mybrother and his friends were to take me upon the lake. Mammaand papa would not go. It was a day, in one sort, of suchpleasure as I had never known till then. The beautiful water,the magnificent shores of the lake, the wonderful lights onthe mountains, almost took me out of this world; to which theyseemed scarcely to belong. I cannot tell what a pang in themidst of this pleasure the thought of Mr. Thorold brought withit. The life I was living now was so very far from his life,and so unlike; my part of the world was now so very distantfrom his, - there was such an abyss between; - and yet theSwiss hills were so glorious, and I was enjoying them. I beganto wonder, as we were sailing towards home in the end of theday, what work I had to do in this new and strange place; whywas I here? Perhaps, to learn patience, and have faith growstrong by trial, while all my life hopes waited upon a willthat I did not know and must trust. Perhaps, to stand up forChristian truth and simplicity in the face of much opposition.Perhaps, to suffer, and learn to bear suffering.

  "You are fatigued, Miss Randolph?" said the soft voice of DeSaussure.

  "Or beauty of scenery, so much beauty, makes you melancholy,"said Mr. Marshall. "It always makes me so, if I let myselfthink of it."

  "Why should it make any one melancholy?" I asked. "I thinkbeauty has the contrary effect."

  "A little beauty. But very great and wonderful loveliness - Idon't know why, it always moves me so. It is something too farbeyond me; it is unlike me; it seems to belong to anotherstage of being, while I am held fast in this. It mocks me, -somehow."

  "It does not do so with me," I said.

  "Ah, it is your world!" De Saussure said, laughing. "It couldnot do so with you very well."

  "But look at Mont Pilatte now," resumed Mr. Marshall, - "withthat crown of light on its brow; - does it not give you thefeeling of something inapproachable - not literally butspiritually, - something pure, glorious, infinite - somethingthat shames us mortals into insignificance?"

  I looked, and I thought I knew why he felt as he did; but Idid not think I could explain it to him just then.

  "Have you a little of my feeling?" he said again. "Do youunderstand it?"

  "I understand it, I think," I said.

  "And do not share it at all?"

  "No, Mr. Marshall. Of course, the mountain is great, and I amsmall; but the purity, and the glory, - that is not beyondreach; and no human being ought to be insignificant, and noneneed be."

  "Not if his life is insignificant?"

  "Nobody's life ought to be that," I answered.

  "How can it be helped, in the case of many a one?"

  "Yes indeed," said De Saussure; "there is a question. I shouldlike to hear Miss Randolph answer it."

  One spoke lightly and the other earnestly. It was not easy toanswer them both.

  "I should like to have you define insignificance first," Isaid.

  "Can there be a more significant word?" said Mr. De Saussure."It defines itself."

  "A life of insignificance, is a life that does not signifyanything," Mr. Marshall added.

  "Most people's lives signify something," I said, stupidly, mythoughts running on far ahead of my words.

  "Yes, to somebody in the corner at home," Mr. Marshall said,"whose affection cannot make a true estimate. But do mostpeople's lives signify anything, except to some fond judgmentof that sort?"

  "Who is estimating you, in a corner at home?" said Mr. deSaussure.

  "Nobody - and that you know. Nobody, except my old mammy."

  "You are a lucky fellow, Hugh. Free as air! Now I have five orsix dear appraisers at my home; who are of opinion that anepaulette and a commission would add to my value; or rather,to do them justice, they are very desirous to have my life -or my death - tell for something, in the struggle whichoccupies all their, thoughts at present. I do not mean thatthey have no choice, but, one or the other. And so am Idesirous; but - Lucerne is so very captivating! And really,as, I said, one signifies so little."

  "One is half of two," said Ransom - "and a hundredth part of ahundred."

  "I should like, I think, to be half of two," said De Saussure,comically. "I don't care about being the hundredth part ofanything."

  "But you are going when I go?" said Ransom.

  "Mrs. Randolph says so; and I suppose she will command me.What does Miss Randolph say?"

  "Yes, to my question," said Hugh Marshall.

  "I do not quite know what is either question," I replied; "anda judge ought to understand his cause."

  "Is it my duty to go and plunge into the m?l?e at home,because my mother and two aunts and three sisters are alltelling me they will renounce me if I do not? I say, what doesone signify?"

  "And _I_ say, how may one
escape from insignificance? - anyhow?"

  "A man with your income need not ask that," said Ransom.

  "What does Miss Randolph say?" De Saussure insisted.

  "If you will tell me, Mr. De Saussure, what the South isfighting for, I can better answer you."

  "That speech is Daisy all over!" said Ransom impatiently. "Shenever will commit herself, if she can get somebody to do itfor her."

  "Fighting for freedom - for independence, of course!" Mr. DeSaussure said, opening his eyes. "Is